Click
by Miah-Arthur
Summary: Dan turned himself in. The click of the cuffs echoed through his mind. The weight and pinch on his wrists were anchors on his soul.


**Notes:** Thanks to my beta HiroMyStory, Hircine_Taoist, Maimat

Whumptober 2019 #9 Shackled

* * *

**Click**

by

Miah . Arthur

* * *

Dan turned himself in. The click of the cuffs echoed through his mind. The weight and pinch on his wrists were anchors on his soul.

_He turned himself in_.

The hubbub of the station faded as the enormity of what he'd done settled over his mind. A sharp yank on his elbow had him stumbling over his own feet. No one laughed. There was nothing funny about one of their own taking a perp walk.

The cuffs came off with the same click. They rolled his fingers across the ink pad and onto the paper. His prints were on file, but procedure, damn it. He stood for his picture.

The cuffs clicked on again. No one spoke, except for orders they'd give anyone under arrest. He lost the right to be treated as a colleague. He accepted that, but seeing people he'd worked with for years turn their heads as he walked by made his knees weak.

He'd known Johnson for ten of those years. A good cop. He'd never take a bribe or cut a corner, and everyone knew it. He held Dan's elbow and kept him upright and moving forward. They approached an interview room, and Dan half-expected to be 'accidentally' walked into the door frame.

He deserved it, right?

He'd done it himself. Might do it now if he'd been walking Malcolm or Paolucci into this room.

But Johnson was a good cop. He yanked Dan to the center of the doorway and wouldn't even let him fall on his face when he tripped over his own feet.

"Man up, Espinoza. You're doing the right thing here. Sit."

Dan sat in the chair on the wrong side of the table. The cuffs clicked again, releasing his right wrist. The other end snapped into the slot on the edge of the table.

Johnson stood at attention and said, "Someone will be in to take your statement." He walked out and the door slammed shut.

Dan waited. And waited. He needed to pee. There was no comfortable way to place his left hand. It couldn't reach the table top. Couldn't reach his knee unless he held his foot on its toes. Someone should have been in. What if they didn't believe him? They could still go after Lucifer. He didn't like the guy, but he couldn't let him go down for murder. Dan ran his free hand over his face. Scrubbed it through his hair. It ended up sticking up all over the place, but who cared at this point?

He was accessory to a murder.

How many illegal, immoral things had he done for Malcolm and Paolucci over the years? Was this even the first death he'd facilitated?

The noises of the station dimly reached him. The usual calls and responses, phones ringing, general office noise, but something changed. The sounds became more frantic. Wrong.

Malcolm. It had to be Malcolm.

He yanked on the cuff. It rattled, echoing in the tiny room. His wrist hurt, and it accomplished nothing. He still needed to pee. He yelled. No one entered the room.

Scenarios spooled through his mind. Each worse than the last. Malcolm killing again. Going after Chloe. Going after his wife and son. Leaving a string of murders across the city leading to the station. And every one of them would weigh on Dan's soul for helping him. Scene after scene filled his mind.

Johnson burst into the room. His face was ashy. His eyes too wide. "Espinoza!"

"What's happening out there?"

"Your kid is safe."

"What? What happened? Where is she?"

"Malcolm got your kid from school"—_he'd already had her when I turned myself in_—"called Decker for ransom. It ended with Malcolm dead." He plopped into the chair across from Dan. "I shouldn't be telling you. But all I could think about was what if that was my kid, you know?"

The world dropped out from under Dan. He couldn't breathe. Trixie. Malcolm went after Trixie. He wasn't there to protect her, and Malcolm went after her. "Trixie is okay? She's not hurt? And Chloe?"

"Malcolm is dead. Decker shot him."

"Ch-Chloe shot him? Are—" He cleared his throat. "Are they okay?"

"Neither of them were hurt. Shaken up, but he didn't hurt them." Johnson looked over Dan. "No one came to take your statement yet?"

Dan shook his head. His mind reeled with possibilities and the enormity of his failure threatened to overwhelm him. He didn't realize Johnson had moved until he heard the cuffs click again.

"Hold up your other arm. I'm moving you to a cell. No one's going to have time for you tonight."

Dan swallowed the bile creeping up his throat and nodded. "Thanks, man. F-for telling me."

The cell door slid shut with a clang that reverberated through Dan. He'd be hearing that sound everyday for years, maybe the rest of his life. He presented his hands through the bars and Johnson removed the cuffs.

"I always liked you, Espinoza. It's too bad you chose this path."

"Yeah."

Johnson left and Dan used the toilet in the corner of the cell, self-conscious that it was in full view of the other cells, but that was just one more thing he'd better get used to. He flopped onto the bench and imagined his little girl at the mercy of a psychopath like Malcolm. He didn't even try to stop the tears that spilled.

All his other failures, he could accept. Being chained to a table because of his fuck-ups while his daughter's life was in danger? Knowing his mistakes put her there? How could he ever accept that?

His dreams were filled with impotent terror, racing toward Trixie faster and faster only to be yanked back by a chain. He woke cold and hungry and empty inside. When they came for him, he answered every question. Gave every detail. Made no excuses.

They returned him to the cell and he waited. Waited for arraignment. Waited for talk of trials. There was no defending what he'd done. He already told them he'd plead guilty. He deserved this.

"Espinoza!" the duty officer called as he sauntered down the hall.

Dan straightened his shoulders and placed his hands through the slot in the bar. They'd be taking him to the larger lock-up now.

"Get your hands out of there, so I can open the door."

Dan frowned, but stepped away from the door.

"Follow me. You're being released. There's a shit ton of paperwork."

Dan didn't understand. He didn't understand when he signed the paperwork. He didn't understand when the prosecutor explained he wouldn't be charged. He didn't understand when the lieutenant told him he still had a job, albeit with a severe reprimand, demotion, and subsequent docking of his pay. He didn't understand when his gun and badge and personal effects were returned to him. He found himself standing in the parking garage, head still spinning, not understanding any of it.

He got into his car. Pulled into traffic. Everything was a confusing muddle. He should be in jail. He should be without a job. A traitorous little voice in the back of his mind added, "You should be without a child." He shoved it away, swallowed to keep his stomach in check, and tightened his grip on the wheel.

He didn't understand how he'd gotten this chance, but he understood where he needed to be.


End file.
